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COPYRIGHTED    1916 

BY    ANNIE    S.     BEAN 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


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CONTENTS 

Breath  of  the  Rose. 

A  Summer  Dusk. 

The  Veil  Between-  Published  "  British  Friend, " 

July,  IQOQ. 

Dreams  of  a  Far-away  World. 
"Grieve  Not  Though  Round  Thee  Darkness  Fall 
Being. 

Sing,  My  Heart. 
At  Easter  Time. 
In  Maytime. 
In  June. 

Somewhere  in  Summer-Time, 
In  August. 
In  December. 
At  Christmas  Tyde. 

"This  Sorry  Earth  Turns  Round  and  Round." 
The  Fields  of  Arcady. 
Mount  Hamilton. 
The  Eucalyptus  Trees. 
A  Moment  at  the  Open  Door. 
In  the  Fields  and  in  the  Orchards. 
Faith  Goes  A-Sailing. 
A  Wind. 

The  Things  o'  Air. 

Haldane's  "Pathway  to  Reality."  Vol.  II.  P.  278. 
The  Lord's  Earth—  Copyrighted  1013. 
"Yea,  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done." 


BREATH  OF  THE  ROSE. 

REATH  of  the  Rose, 

Caught  by  the  Alchemist's  Art, 
I  bid  thee  disclose 

The  love  that  is  rife  in  the  heart 
Go,  find  a  place 
Mid  her  papers  and  letters  and  things; 

To  each  give  a  trace 
Of  that  marvelous  fragrance  that  brings 

Past  Junes  to  the  mind, 
Though  over  us  falls  winter's  night 

And  drear  is  the  wind. 
Then,  if  she  think,  read  or  write, 
To  her  sense  thou  shalt  steal, 

Not  like  a  thought  that  intrudes, 
But  make  her  to  feel 

The  presence  of  Love  that  illudes 
Time's  dark,  ruthless  blight, 
And  o'er  space  and  through  Change, 

even  Death, 
Sends  its  soft  light 

And  sweet  dews,  tender  warmth,  with 
a  Breath. 


' 


A  SUMMER  DUSK. 

(UT  of  the  dark  and  bosky  woods, 

The  sweet  winds  blow  ; 
By  ferny  fen  the  fire-flies  glow, 

Flicker  and  glow; 
From  a  shadowy  pine  a  bird  calls  low, 

Clear  and  low. 
Oh,  dear  is  the  night  when  the  sweet 

winds  blow, 

And  the  fire-flies  glow, 
And  a  bird  from  the  pine  calls  clear  and 

low, 
Sweet,  and  clear,  and  low. 


THE   VEIL  BETWEEN. 

O  far  hast  thou  gone  since  the  morning 

broke ! 
So  far  with  the  mornings  of  long 

ago — ; 
E'en  with  the  first  that  the  new  world 

woke 
With  the  gladdening    light  of  the 

sun's  warm  glow. 
And  the  wall  that  hides  thee,  men  call 

Death, 

But  there's  only  a  breath  between, 
my  breath. 

So  far  hast  thou  gone  since  the  noonday 

came! 

So  far  with  the  glory  that  is  to  be; 
With  a  thousand  years  as  a  day  the  same, 

From  earthly  fetters  forever  free. 
And  the  wall  that  hides  thee,  men  call 

Death, 

But  there's  only  a  breath  between, 
my  breath. 


So  near  art  thou  come  since  the  darkness 

fell! 

So  close  is  my  spirit  folded  to  thee, 
Touch  may  not  feel  and  speech  cannot 

tell, 
Fast  bound  in  the  Infinite  Love  are 

we. 
And  the  veil  that  hides  thee,  men  call 

Death, 

And  it  is  but  a  breath  between, 
my  breath. 


DREAMS  OF  A  FAR-AWAY  WORLD. 

REAMS  of  a  far-away  world, 

Echoes  of  songs  unsung; 
Memory  mingled  with  prophecy 
Of  days  that  are  not  begun; 

Vague  as  a  breath  in  the  dark, 

Real  as  the  beat  of  my  heart, 
Are  these  things  with  me  unceasingly, 

Of  my  very  being  a  part. 

Since  somewhere  in  space  beyond  ken, 
In  the  past  that  beginning  had  none, 

Each  hath    been  each  though    the  soul  found 

home 
In  ether  or  heart  of  stone; 

And,  Dear,  when  I  know  thee  so  well, 
With  a  knowledge  by  long  eons  taught, 

A  whisper  will  wake  the  far  consciousness 
Of  the  first  that  my  spirit  caught, 


And  with  Love  for  a  certain  clue, 

In  eternities  yet  to  be, 
Naught  can  avail  though  worlds  divide, 

To  hold  myself  from    thee. 

While  this  seems  so  true,  although 

My  hand  may  not  clasp  thine,  Dear, 
Why  need  the  years  or  a  continent 
Shadow  the  sunshine  here? 


GRIEVE  not,  though  round  thee  darkness 
fall, 

And  one  sweet  day  hath  met  its  close. 
Out  of  the  darkness  of  the  grave 

The  dead  Christ  rose. 


BEING. 

NEVER  again  shall  I  try,  Dearheart, 
To  make  thee  think  I  am  good  or  wise; 
Never  by  art  or  guile,  Dearheart, 
To  seem  the  fairer  in  thine  eyes. 

I  have  been  far  since  we  met,  Dearheart, 

Was  it  yestere'en  or  ages  ago? 
I  have  been  in  the  still,  vast  spaces 

That  only  the  soul  and  God  can  know. 

Oh,  thine  every  touch  is  dear,  Beloved! 

Never  before  have  I  loved  thee  so; 
But  not  by  a  hair  can  I  hold  thee, 
Sweetheart, 

Thyself,  alone,  must  stay  or  go. 

Henceforth  we  must  shun  all  seeming, 
Dearheart, 

Live  in  the  truth  that  makes  us  free, 
For  when  one  has  been  alone,  with  God, 

One  only  longs  to  be  . 


SING,  MY  HEART. 

ING,  my  heart,  a  merry  song. 

The  fallen  leaves  are  whirled  along, 
The  south  wind  pushes  the  clouds 

between 

And  sobs  in  the  pine  trees'  somber  green, 
And  some  way  the  tears  to  my  eyes  will 

start, 
So  sing  a  merry  song,  my  heart. 

Sing  a  merry  song,  my  heart, 

Of  joys  that  stay  though  joys  depart; 

Thou  dost  know  the  rollicking  tune 

Of  drunken  bobolinks  in  June. 

What  though  flown  the  gladsome  throng? 

Sing,  my  heart,  their  merry  song. 

Sing,  my  heart,  a  merry  song. 
If  Hope  grows  faint,  yet  Love  is  strong. 
Thou  dost  know  Love's  every  tone, 
And  Love  will  some  day  reach  its  own 
Though  time  and  space  hold  far  apart, 
Then  sing  a  merry  song,  my  heart. 


AT  EASTER  TIME. 

'ER  the  gray  water  and  through  the  gray 

sky, 

A  shimmering  light, 

Bespeaking  the  joyous,  radiant  sunshine, 
Just  out  of  sight. 

Through   the  gray    hedges    and  through    the 
gray  wood 

Gray  buds  do  appear, 
Truly  fortelling  that  blossoming  summer 

Soon  will  be  here. 


IN  MAY-TIME. 

N  my  garden  the  roses  blossom  and 

blow, 
Summer  and  Autumn  and  Winter 

and  Spring; 

By  my  window  the  fragrant  climbers  grow, 
And  small  birds  flutter  and  twitter  and 
sing. 

Over  my  head  is  a  sky  of  blue, 
Blue  to  the  far  horizon's  rim; 
And  the  sun  shines  bright  the  long  day 

through, 

Till  it  slips  past  the  mountains,  blue 
and  dim. 

But  aye  in  my  heart  there  is  longing  and 

pain 
For  the  wild  wet  winds  and  the  sweet 

warm  rain; 

For  the  rosy  bloom  a-bursting  through 
The  bare,    brown   boughs  that  the    white 
snows  knew. 


IN  JUNE. 

love  the  stars,  I  love  the  night, 

I  love  the  darkness  and  the  light 
That  flashes  in  our  Northern  skies, 
Then  trembles,  sinks  and  slowly  dies. 

I  love  the  sweet,  sweet  breath  of  June, 
The  warm  South  wind,  the  drowsy  rune 

Of  bees  among  the  rustling  leaves, 

And  swallows  nesting  'neath  the  eaves. 


SOMEWHERE  IN  SUMMER-TIME. 

JjjjERE  sunbeams  dance, 
IS)      And  waters  glance, 
The  tender  skies  bend  over; 
And  clear  is  heard 
The  song  of  bird, 
And  sweet  the  air  with  clover. 

Here  soft  winds  blow, 

And  humming  low, 
The  brown  bees  gather  honey; 

Here  daisies  white 

Sway  lithe  and  light 
Adown  the  meadow  sunny. 


IN  AUGUST. 

3N  the  early  afternoon, 
Not  a  bird  was  singing, 
To  the  measure  of  the  wind 
A  heavy  rose  was  swinging. 

There  came  a  drowsy  bumble-bee, 
His  droning  made  it  seem  more 
still; 

It  lulled  me  to  hypnotic  sleep ; 
I  followed  him  o'er  vale  and  hill. 

I  smelled  the  fields  of  clover  bloom, 
Where  graceful  elms  their  feathers 

shook ; 

I  paused  beneath  the  fir  and  pine, 
Then  sought  the  sea  by  thread  of 
brook. 

But  when  I  woke  the  sun  was  low, 
Strange  trees  were  traced  against  its 

blaze ; 

In  place  of  blue   Atlantic  waves, 
'Twere  Western  hills  that  met  my  gaze. 


IN  DECEMBER. 

ALL  the  garden  is  forlorn, 
The  frost  has  set  its  cruel 

mark; 

The  gay  chrysanthemums  are  gone, 
Their  stocks  are  standing  brown 
and  stark. 

Yet  in  spite  of  Winter's  chill, 
The  violets  still  breathe  perfume, 

And  the  rosy  haws  fulfill 

The  promise  of  the  summer's  bloom. 


AT  CHRISTMAS  TYDE. 

bitter  thoughts  thy  bosom  fill, 
Forget  them  Sweet; 
If  any  be  who  wrought  thee  ill, 

Forgive  them,  Sweet; 
For  their  misdeeds  excuses  make, 
On  all  their  sorrows  pity  take 

As  it  be  meet 
For  Christ's  dear  sake; 
That  the  deep  Joy  of  Heaven  above, 
And  the  rare  Peace  of  Heavenly  Love, 
May  reach  thy  heart  and  there  abide 
At  Christmas  Tyde. 


THIS  sorry  earth  turns  round  and  round, 
Heedlessly  whirling  the  years  away. 

But  there  are  whiles  are  ours  to  hold, 
To  hold  forever  and  a  day. 


THE  FIELDS  OF  ARCADY. 

H,  the  sun  is  up  and  the  skies  are  fair, 

Oh,  ho,  for  the  fields  of  Arcady! 
The  air  is  sweet  beyond  compare 
In  the  blossoming  fields  of  Arcady. 

And  all  the  flowers,  they  say,  are  wet 
With  dew  from  Heaven,  in  Arcady; 

Press  to  the  lip,  one  may  forget 
All  grief  in  the  joys  of  Arcady. 

The  path  is  through  a  winding  way, 

To  the  happy  fields  of  Arcady, 
Where  sunbeams  dance  and  shadows 

play 

With  the  breeze  that  fans  sweet 
Arcady. 

The  gate  with  broken  hasp  stands  wide, 

There  are  no  bars  to  Arcady. 
The  tall  trees  beckon  either  side 

Inticing  us  to  Arcady. 


Yet  all  who  seek  will  never  find 
Their  way  to  the  fields  of  Arcady, 

For  having  eyes  are  many  blind 
Nor  read  the  signs  to  Arcady. 

But  hasten,  hasten,  let  us  go 

While  the  day  is  new  to  Arcady, 

For  Sweetheart,  listen,  the  way  I  know 
To  the  fair,  far  fields  of  Arcady. 


MOUNT  HAMILTON. 

AST  wooded  slope,  round  steep 

defile, 
We  journejj-ed  up  the  mountain 

way: 

Below  us,  flushed  with  orchard  bloom, 
Green-walled,  the  fertile  valley  lay. 

We  stood  at  last  beneath  the  dome 
That  crowns  the  summit;  bleak 
and  bare, 

Save  where  scant  soil,  in  creviced  rock, 
Brings  forth  a  blossom,  frail  and  fair. 

We  had  a  glance  through  magic  glass 
That  grave  men  seek  with  eager  eyes, 

Searching  the  long  and  silent  nights 
To  learn  the  secrets  of  the  skies 

Then,  Sweet,  mine  eyes  turned  toward 
the   East — 

I  saw  a  sky  of  cloudless  blue, 
But  never  glass  had  power  to  show 

One  glimpse  of  my  far  land, — or  you. 


I 


THE  EUCALYPTUS  TREES. 
HEY  rise  up  into  the  morning 


yf          mist, 
Vast  and  dreamlike  and  far  away, 
Pulsing  with  rose  and  amethyst 
And  shot  with  gold  from  the  sun's 

first   ray; 

And  they  bear  me  into  an  upper  air 
Above  Earth's  sordidness  and  care. 

But  afternoons  when  the  dry  winds 
blow, 

And  make  one  shiver  with  cold, 

— or  heat, 

And  the  sky  overhead  is  blue,  blue,  blue! 
And  endlessly  long  seems  the  dust- 
white   street, 
And  the  mountain  sides  are  seared  and 

scarred, 
Their  darksome  shadows  press  too  hard. 


Stately  and  still  they  majestically  stand 
Against  the  luminous  dusk  of  the  sky, 

Catching  the  last  faint  gleam  of  the  sun, 
Holding  moon  and  star  in  their 
branches   high, 

And  with  the  magic  of  night  set  free, 
They  bring  far  heaven  nearer  me. 

But  afternoons  when  the  dry  winds 

blow, 
And  make  one  shiver  with  heat, 

— or   cold, 
And  the  sky  overhead  is  blue,  blue, 

blue! 
And  the  line  of  the  mountain  hard 

and  bold, 
And  the  world  seems  suddenly  big 

and  drear, 

Their  darksome  shadows  crowd 
too    near. 


A  MOMENT  AT  THE  OPEN  DOOR. 

H,  but  the  world  is  fair! 

The  russet  branches  there, 
And  yellow,  dangling  leaves, 
Now  caught  by  a  glint  of  gold 
From  the  sun  that  weaves 
A  path  where  the  clouds  are  rolled 
And  tossed  and  spread 
Across  the  blue  o'rehead. 

And  see  how  the  shadows  play 
O'er  the  blue  hills  far  away! 
Was  ever  a  sweeter  note 
Thrust  into  air,  rain-clear, 
Than  this  from  the  yellow  throat 
Of  meadow  lark  hovering  near? 
And  the  throb  of  my  heart  doth 

neither  belie, 
The  smile  on  my  lip  nor  the  tear  in 

mine  eye. 


IN  THE  FIELDS  AND  IN  THE  ORCHARDS. 

the  fields  and  in  the  orchards 
Many  flowers  fair  are  blooming, 
Snowy  plum  and  golden  poppy 

All  the  summer  air  perfuming ; 
But  a  pain  is  in  my  heart 

And  I  fear  it's   nigh  to  breaking, 
With  longing  for  the  picture  that  the 
snowy  sails  are  making, 

As  they're  passing  to  and  fro, 

As  they  passed  long,  long  ago, 
Now  in  shade  and  now  in  sunlight 

Where  the  sweet  salt  breezes  blow; 
Yet  the  flowers  this  sunny  weather 

Blow  their  petals  all  together; 
Of  their  bloom  small  heed  I'm  taking, 
For  my  heart  is  nigh  to  breaking, 

And  the  tears  have  blurred  my  sight. 


In  the  fields  and  in  the  orchards, 
Many  birds  are  blithely  singing, 

Now  a  call  and  now  a  carol, 
Now  a  whistle  clearly  ringing. 

But  a  pain  is  in  my  heart, 

And  I  fear  it's  nigh  to  breaking, 

With  longing  for  the  music  that 
the  ocean  waves  are  making, 
As  they  beat  upon  the  shore, 
As  they  beat  in  days  of  yore, 

And  the  cry  of  drifting  sea-bird 
And  the  plash  of  passing  oar. 
Yet  the  birds  this  sunny  weather 
Wake  and  sing  and  fly  together — 
I  scarce  heed  their  flight  or  waking, 

For  my  heart  is  nigh  to  breaking, 
And  with  tears  my  sight  is  blurred. 


FAITH  GOES  A-SAILING. 

AITH  goes  a-sailing,  a-sailing, 

a-sailing, 
Faith  goes  a-sailing  into  the  blue. 
Hope  looks  over  the  waiting  water 
To  rifted  cloud  where  the  sun  shines 
through. 

Love  delves  down  in  the  dusty  dark, 
Humming  a  tune  once  learned  from 

a  star, 

Seeing  through  trouble,  sin  and  sorrow 
The  Light  of  Truth  shine  from 
afar. 


A  WIND. 

'HE  sailors  that  wait  in  the  harbor 

o're   night, 
Tell  of  strange  things  that  befall 

at  sea, 
Of  the  phantom  ships  and  the  false 

watch-lights, 

Of  the  terrible  monsters  they  fight 
— or  flee. 

Their  yarns  are  long,  their  tales  are 

wide; 
Some  claim  what  the  other  man  says 

is  untrue, 
And  each  likes  best  to  hear  his  own 

voice 
Tell  what  he  has  seen  or  what  he  would  do. 

But  they  all  agree  'bout  a  curious  wind, 
That  sometime  or  other  strikes  every 

ship; 
And  none  may  guess  when,  where  it 

will  blow, 

Which  vessel  'twill  take  or  which  it 
will  skip. 


[JJOW    »rf 


One  told  of  a  fleet  that  was  all  becalmed, 
The  limp  sails  mirrored  in  sky-like 

sea, 
Of  the  restless  stillness  that  held  them 

fast, 
While  time  as  eternity  seemed  to  be., 

When  this  strange  wind  blew,  from 

whence  none  knew, 
And  seized  two  ships  from  all  the  rest, 
And  carried  one  to  its  port  in  the  East, 
And  wrecked  the  other  on  rocks  in  the 
West. 

One  told  of  a  transport,  crowded, 

thronged, 
With  soldiers  fierce  for  the  thick  of 

the  fight: 
They  studied  the  chart  for  the  shortest 

route, 

They  tested  the  engines'  power  and 
might. 


But  vain  their  purpose  and  chart  and 

steam ; 
Their  visions  of  glory  had  all  to 

surcease, 
For  the  strange  wind  bore  them  out  of 

their   course 

And  landed  them  all  at  the  Isle  of 
Peace. 

Another  told  of  a  humble  craft, 

— And  little  enough  could  the  skipper 

boast 

But  a  cheery  heart  and  a  ready  hand, 
As  he  fished  and  traded  along  the 
coast, 

And  the    strange  wind    filled    the  brown, 

patched  sails, 

And  instead  of  a  cargo  of  fish  and  fur, 
It  returned  from  a  port  not  down  on 

the  map, 

And  laden  with  frankincense  and 
myrrh. 


Oh,  the  sailors  that  wait  in  the  harbor 

o'er  night, 
Will  quarrel  for  slight  and  ridiculous 

cause, 

As  about  the  rig  of  a  phantom  ship, 
Or  if  the  sea-serpent  has  wings  or 
claws ; 

There  may  be  blows  'bout  the  mermaid's 

song, 
But  concerning  this  wind  they  unite  as 

the  sod, 

Though  some  call  it  the  Wind  of  Destiny, 
And  some  say  it's  only  the  Breath  of 
God. 


THE  THINGS  O'  AIR. 

" — in  all  the  world  there  is  no  such  strong  tower 
as  this  wherein  I  am  confined;  and  is  neither  of 
wood,  nor  of  iron,  nor  of  stone,  but  of  air  and  not 
anything  else.'1 — Morte  d' Arthur. 

broke  the  bonds  that  held  me — 
And  the  wee,  sma'  things  o'  air, 
That  fastened  them  close  around  me, 
They  gathered  from  everywhere! 

I  laughed  as  I  heard  my  fetters  fall, 

I  stood,  one  moment,  strong  and  free. 
Then  I  heard  the  sma'  things  to  each 

other  call, 

And  they  laughed  and  they   mocked 
at  me. 

They  brought  their  forges  out  of  the 

dark; 

Lighted  their  fires  right  under  my  nose! 
I  thought  my  breath  would  put  out  the 

spark 

That  glowed  where  the  blue  smoke 
slowly  rose. 


But  it  only  fanned  it  into  a  flame, 

Slender  and  red  like  a  serpent's  tongue, 

That  leaped  and  straight  to  my  eyes  it 

came, 
And  under  the  lids  it  burned  and  stung. 

I  was  blind  with  the  pain  and  the  hot, 

quick  tears; 

I  could  not  see  whither  to  turn  or  flee — 
The  sledge  and  the  hammer  they  rang  in 

my  ears, 

While  the  sma'  things  worked  right 
merrily. 

And  wrought  they  well,  with  might  and 
main, 

Each  broken  link  they  made  full  strong, 
And  bound  them  around  me  once  again, 

To  wear  the  rest  of  my  whole  life  long. 

And  now  through  the  weary  days  I  go; 

A  slave  to  the  wee,  sma'  things  o'  air! 
And  if  I  cry  out,  they  joy  to  know 

I  find  their  fetters  so  hard  to  bear. 


In  After    Years. 

I  learned  to  smile  as  the  years  crept  by, 
Though  the  cords  cut  into  my  aching 
breast : 

I  learned  to  stifle  the  groan  and  sigh, 
And  still  the  ragings  of  fierce  unrest. 

But  oh!  the  bitterness  and  the  shame, 
To  know  myself  for  so  mean  a  thing, 
A  slave!  Tho'  none  whispered  the  hateful 

name, 

And  my  chains  were  covered  with 
tinseling. 

Then  came  in  the  solemn  hush  of  night, 
The  Spirit  of  Truth,  and  revealed 

to  me, 
That  my  chains  were  fashioned  of  endless 

might, 
Reaching  through  Time  and  Eternity: 


That  nothing  in  boundless  space  is  free! 

They  hold  together  the  near  and  far, 
What  e'er  has  been  with  what  may  be, 
And  unite  my  soul  with  the  outmost 
star. 

And  though  the  cords  hurt  me,  again 
and  again, 

I  would  not,  now,  if  I  could  be  free, 
For  they  bind  my  heart  to  my  fellow-men, 

— And  bind  my  fellow-men  to  me. 


At  Last. 

I  thought  myself  bound  by  biting  chain, 
I  thought  myself  driven  by  ruthless 
rod. 

But  now  I  know  that  what  I  felt 

Were  the  sinews  of  strength  of  God. 


HALDANE'S  "PATHWAY  TO  REALITY" 
Vol.  II.  P.  278. 

|-E  may  reach  the  heights,  be  bathed  in 

glory, 

Lose  in  the  distance  the  path  we 
trod,— 
Breathe  in  a  rapture  undreamed  in  the 

Valley! 
But — "ever  beyond  are  the  hills  of  God." 


THE  LORD'S  EARTH. 

Earth  is  the  Lord's:  this  Earth, 
even  this, 
With  its  desolate  reaches  of  sand 
That  are  endlessly  drifted  and  ceasely 

shifted 
By  winds  that   obey   His  command. 

The  Earth  is  the  Lord's,  this  Earth, 

even  this: 
Where  the  mountains  rise  bleak  to 

despair ! 
With  cravesses  that  harbor  grim  shadows 

at  noon, 

Rocky  steeps  that  hurl  back  the  sun's 
glare. 

The  Earth  is  the  Lord's  and  the  fulness 

thereof ; 
This  leaf,  brightly  hued  by  His  sun  and 

His  rain, 
On  the  branch  swaying  lythe  'gainst  the 

blue  of  His  sky, 

At  its  touch  the  flesh  festers,  is  tortured 
by  pain: 


These  blossoms,  surpassingly,  wonderously 

fair, 
That  madden  the  brain  with  their  too 

fragrant  breath; 
This  fruit,  hanging  temptingly  ripe  by 

the  way, 

He  who  eats,  shall  find  bitter,  taste 
death. 

The  Earth  is  the  Lord's  and  the  fulness 

thereof, 

The  world,  this  world,  even  this  that 
we  know, 

With  its  temptest  and  drought,  its  earth 
quake  and  flood, 

Its  merciless  heat  and  its  pitiless  snow; 

Where  loneliness  broods  over  land, 

over  sea, 
The  crowding,  the  turmoil,  the  strife  of 

the  town, 
Where  pestilence  walketh  in  darkness, 

unchecked, 

And  fresh  fields  of  morning,  at  noon 
withered  down. 


The  Earth  is  the  Lord's  and  the  fulness 

thereof, 
The  world  and  they  that  are  dwelling 

therein, 
They  that  lie,  steal  and  murder,  wage 

infamous  war, 

With  their  impious  folly,  their  greed 
and  their  sin: 

The  beasts  that  prey  on  each  other  at  night, 
The   monsters   that  dwell   in  the  deep, 

the  least  thing 
That  crawls,  the  serpent  that  glides  in  our 

Eden, 

And  poisonous  insect  and  mite  on  frail 
wing. 


And  His  is  the  Kingdom ;  as  He  will,  by 

His   law, 
The  sands,  never  resting,  are  stilled 

into  stone. 
Through  eons  of  time,  far  beyond  our  mind's 

grasp, 

The  mountains,  the  ages  have  claimed 
as  their  own, 

Are  crumbled  away — even  by  motes  that 

are  borne 
On  the    beams    of  the  sun,  and    lo, 

where  they  stood, 
Stretch  flowering  prairie,  fields  fertile  and 

fair, 

Where  the  nightshade,  once  deadly, 
yields  fruit  sweet  and  good. 

And  His  is  the  Kingdom,  the  Power  is 

His: 

By  His  law,  in  His  way  the  tempest  is 
still; 


With  the  floods  He  has  mingled  the 

dust  of  the  stars 

With  the  clay  of  the  Earth,  from  which, 
as  He  will, 

Are  made  blade  and  leaflet,  each  blossom 
ing   tree, 
The  ant  and  the  bee  and  the  laboring 

beast, 
The  fish  of  the  sea  and  the  birds  of  the 

air, 

And  humanity's   myriads, — the    Great 
est, — and  least. 

And  His  is  the  Kingdom,  the  Power, 

the  Glory: 
As  He  will,  by  His  law,  in  His  way, 

now  are  stayed 
The  famine  and  pestilence;   Love's  voice 

has  been  heard 

Over  greed's  selfish  clamor,  and  men  have 
obeyed. 


And  His  is  the  Kingdom,  the  Power,  the 

Glory: 
All  beings  proclaim  Him,  all  actions 

reveal ; 
The  light  of  His  spirit  illumines  all 

spaces, 

No  suns  e'er  can  dim  it,  no  earth-shade 
conceal. 


Lord,  we  are  Thy  children,  such  even  as 

we, 

Who  are  blinded  and  hapless  and  way 
ward  and  weak. 

Grant  but  a  ray  of  Thine  all-seeing  wisdom, 
To   show  us   Thy   law   in   Thy   way   we 
would  seek. 

Arm  us  with  shreds  of  Thine  infinite 

patience, 
That  we  faint  not  at  failure.     Our  will 

as  the  sand 
Ever    swayed,  make    firm  with    Thine  own; 

give   Thou 

To  our  faltering  arm,  the  might  of  Thy 
hand. 

That  we  willingly  walk  with  Thy  Law  in 

Thy  way, 

With  strength  both  to  do  and  to  bear ; 
that  we  be 


Even  as  Christ!     That  we  consciously 

feel  that  we  live, 

That  we  move  and  have  being,  only  in 
Thee. 

Thy  law  must  be  just.  Thy  way  must 

be  good; 
Thy  wisdom,  Thy  mercy,  Thy  love  doubt 

we  never, 
For  Thine  is  the  Kingdom,  the  Power, 

the  Glory, 

Forever  and  ever, — 

Amen. 


YEA,  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done. 

I  know  all  will  be  well, 
Yet  why  such  sorrow  comes  to  one, 

Why  pain  should  be,  I  cannot  tell, 
I  need  not  understand.     I  only  know 

For  purpose,  holy  and  divine, 
In  Thy  great  plan,  come  grief 
and  woe. 

Yea,  Lord,  Thy  will, — not  mine. 


ELVIN     PRINTING    CO. 
SAN    JOSE.   CAL. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


